


Forever

by isa_belle



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Angst, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Kissing bridge scene, M/M, Pining, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Whipped, Sad Ending, Teenage Losers Club (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 02:17:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle
Summary: "I love you too, Richie. Forever."





	Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sad in advance for It chapter 2 so I wrote this and it didn't make me feel better at all so have fun!!

_ When I realize I love him I figure I should've known sooner. That the way I always seem to look to him, desperate for some sort of reaction, a smile or a laugh or a glint behind the eyes, has always been something different. And how my mind seems to wander to the pink of his cheeks or the sound of his laugh or the soft curve of his lips isn't normal. That my instinct to throw myself in front of him at the first hint of danger, careless for my own life and the lives of my friends, keeping his eyes on mine (hands on his cheeks "look at me, Eddie, look at me") is rooted in something deeper than just friendship. I think that I'm the last to know. That Bev knows. And so do Ben and Mike and Bill and Stan and maybe they've all long and I ought to be mad at them for not telling me. That maybe he does too, though I think and hope not (the thought fills me with a strange sort of anxiety, fogging my eyes behind the thick frames of my glasses). I figure I'm stupid for not connecting the dots sooner. _

  
I stare at him, awestruck, my eyes wide and full of stars, my hands shaking, each tremor sending a chill down my spine. I'm shell-shocked. And he's just sitting there, really, going on about some dipshit who coughed on him during English, legs crossed, hands moving as he speaks. Its all perfectly ordinary. But the way the sun peeks in through the trees, lighting up his face and making his eyes shine, highlighting the soft angles of his jaw and the slight pink of his cheeks. The way his voice is quiet, a little like he's just speaking for me to hear, for me to listen. It just drowns out everything else until all I can see is him, it makes me think _'God, he's beautiful.'_  
And that's a thousand different brands of frightening. People who think like that get punched here, they get killed. Maybe that's how it should be, maybe its not. I'm fourteen, how the fuck am I supposed to know? All I know is that looking at Eddie Kaspbrak makes my heart swell up and its nauseating and it feels really good. (And if loving him knocks me into an early grave, to rot besides the few like me who decided not to hide it? So fucking be it.)  
Thank God he's too engrossed in whatever he's talking about to notice. I should look away, I think, but why? Why's is wrong for me to want this? Why do people think I'm bad?  
"What are you staring at, dickwad?"  
"What?" he breaks me out of my spiraly trance.  
"You've been staring at me for like five minutes. What is it? I got something on my face? Or did your final brain cell finally call it quits and now you're just a human vegetable?"  
"nah, 'm just thinking about your mom." (this is good, banter is good, its familiar, its so far off from the foreign new thing that's occupying my thoughts).  
"Beep beep, Richie" he laughs and I'm pretty sure it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. And I feel dumb for not thinking it before. (And I know that in this town, that puts a target on my back. But I can't find it in myself to stop.  
"hey! Earth to Trashmouth, you're doing it again."  
I blink, "oh uh, sorry, just zoned out."  
He gives that a funny look but then goes back to telling his story. I Think that things will be different now. And that's scary, but _what the fuck?_ We fought a shape-shifting clown, what could be scarier than that? _I can handle love_, I tell myself. Then Eddie snort-laughs and his face burns up and I reach over and pinch his cheeks "cute, cute, cute" (_but it feels heavier now_). He swats my hand but smiles a little secret smile. _Yeah, I can handle love._

_He's the sun, I think. (Bright and fiery-hot, a firecracker of a boy, small but snappy, shooting out snark and banter almost faster than I can fire it back). He's the sun because he glows (shinny and warm like the lazy, sleepy smiles that light up his bedroom at two AM when I climb through his window). He's the sun because he's so far away, millions and millions of miles, even when he's right next to you. His brain floats above him, processing words before they leave your mouth, analyzing and over-analyzing nervously (and the distance of it all leaves you cold, no heat to bask in). He can handle whatever you throw at him, he's strong like that (even though people tell him he's not). Burns up whatever gets too close, freezes what stays too far away. (The center of the universe). I think I might be okay with burning up if I can stay close to him (or maybe just the center of mine)._

* * *

_When I realize he loves me, its like all the pieces of the puzzle slide perfectly together. It all clicks into place, finally (finally) complete. This was always what was meant to be (I can only hope it will keep on being). A sort of unchangeable thing, set in stone, destiny, if you will, fate. The universe was guiding us to a single point and got tired of waiting around for us to get there. The too-long stares, the soft touches, the softer looks. They weren't nothing._

  
"Richie?"  
I jump up at the sound of the voice (jarringly familiar, I'd know it in the middle of a booming thunderstorm), putting the knife behind my back and planting myself in front of the unfinished carving. I look like I've been caught, like I'm guilty. I feel it too. Heavy in my stomach, swirling around and stinging my eyes, I blink and turn on my heel and face a surprisingly sad looking Eddie.  
"Eds! What're ya doing here?" I shift my weight nervously, swaying in place. Then I scrunch up my eyebrows, studying his face a bit more. There's definitely a bit of discontentment there, and he's fiddling with his aspirator, something's bothering him. "What's wrong?"  
He blinks, face going suddenly blank, "nothing"  
I roll my eyes "cut the bullshit, Kaspbrak. I know there's something wrong. I know your sad face, what's got you all bothered?"  
He glances away from my eyes, then back. Then away. Then back. "it's nothing Rich." he pauses, "just--" he bites his lips and his eyes finally settle on mine, "who's name were you writing?"  
I can feel my face heat up, blush rising to my cheeks. I stammer, "erm-- its--well--"  
Eddie sighs, eyes bouncing away from mine once again, "its fine, Richie, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."  
_He doesn't know it's his name._ I know that thought should fill me with relief but somehow it doesn't. I think its a stupid thing to have done anyway. Like putting the letter next to each other might make it real. Like the little _+_ in the middle makes us closer together. (like he could ever want me.)  
"No its not that its just..." trail off.  
"Just...?" he prompts, tilting his head a little, bouncing his hair.  
"I can't tell you," I say finally, tucking the knife in my pocket and brushing the hair out of my eyes. Eddie knits his eyebrows.  
"Well why not?"  
"Because."  
"Because why? Is it Bev?" he says the name like it tastes sour in his mouth.  
I cough in surprise, choking out an almost laugh, _"__Bev?"_  
"Yeah, Bev, why's that so fucking funny trashmouth?"  
"_Beverly Marsh?_ You think I'm writing her name?"  
"well she's the only girl we know."  
"who says I'm writing a girls name?" the words fall out of my lips before I can stop them, and I almost slap a hand over my mouth after they're already out in the air. Eddie takes a step towards me, I have to fight the urge to take a step back, the words _fuck fuck fuck, he's gonna hate me_, playing in my brain like the beat of one of those stupid radio jingles that gets stuck in your head (except the words play over and over, getting louder and more distorted until all I can here is static)  
"What's that supposed to mean." his face is bent in confusion, and I patiently wait for the confusion to snap to rage.  
"It means exactly what I said, Kaspbrak." My heart races, the thumps seemingly chasing each other, _boom boom boom boom_. I clench my fists.  
He takes another step towards me, "is this some kind of joke to you, Richie? You can't just say stuff like that, you're gonna get yourself killed. Do you know where we live?"  
"Sure." I say because I don't know what else to say. Because I'm so nervous i think i might throw up. Because its his name and he doesn't know that and if he did he'd probably try to throw me off the bridge, or he'd never talk to me again or he'd spit in my face and call me names (the one time trashmouth cant use the damn thing that gave him the title)  
"Who's name, Rich?" his voice sounds strained and he takes another step. I breathe in but I find that the air won't fill my lungs. I take him in, (hands shaking, brows twisted, my imagination filling in the blanks in his expression with disgust) and something in me breaks. My eyes water and I want to start a fight, to talk to my dad. I want someone to hit me. (I crave the bloodiness of a broken nose, the sharp pain and metallic taste on the tongue just enough to distract me from the weight in my chest.)  
"I--"  
I move forward, pushing past him and running towards the barrens, tears pooling until they spill over, staining my cheeks like blood on white fabric. I hear him call after me but I don't hear it really. _This is stupid_, I find myself thinking, _stupid stupid stupid stupid._  
I run until I'm surrounded by trees and they block out the light of the sun (for once I welcome the cool shadows on my face). I pull the knife out of my pocket and throw it as far as I can, letting out a angry scream (except my voice cracks and I think I start sobbing)as my fingers loosen their grip. I fall back against a tree, sinking to the ground, digging my hands into the dirt and crying into my knees. (stupid stupid stupid). He'll hate me. (he already does). It was a idiotic idea to begin with, I mean what did I think was gonna happen?  
I sit there, breathing for few seconds. Crying and then kicking myself for crying and starting the cycle over until I hear a gentle "Richie?" behind me. I almost leap up to run again but I find I don't have the energy. I just sigh and give a hoarse, "what?" my eyes stinging with tears I'd rather pretend aren't there.  
Eddie crouches in front of me, pulling my hands out of the dirt. I refuse to look at him. Why should I?  
"Rich. I'm sorry, okay? You do know I don't agree with them, right?" I say nothing because no, I don't know that. He just sighs and slides next to me, our arms pressed together. His head rests against the tree and his pinkie is touching mine and I think, _fuck it, if he doesn't hate me now I might as well make him._  
"It was yours."  
My voice hangs for a moment, making the air thick. Then, "what do you mean?"  
I lift my face, ignoring the redness and the tears and quivering lip that probably all make me look ridiculous. "your name, Eds. I was writing your name."  
He takes that in for a moment, and I see as soon as it hits him, his face turning frantic. He grabs my wrist. "This isn't some sort of sick joke is it? You aren't messing with me? Because I swear to God Richie if I'm not right about this."  
"'m not messing with you Eds, I--"  
He cuts me off, "swear." he says.  
"What do you mean, 'swear'? Swear wh--"  
He squeezes my wrist, "swear its not a joke, dumbass, swear you're being serious."  
The escalation of this situation sends my mind spinning but I push through that muddy confusion to another. Why does he care? Why do I have to swear something he shouldn't want to be true? But I don't think the questions matter, really. I rush to speak.  
"I swear, Eddie, I swear." Then he glances over my face, looking me up and down, apparently coming to a decision. He reaches up quickly, grabbing either side of my head. Then he tugs my lips to his and kisses me.  
When his lips touch mine its like all the questions I have are answered in an instant. It feels real, it feels right. His mouth is hot, and my hands grasp at him, landing on his shoulders as his fingers dig into my hair, tugging on the strands and sending chills down my spine. Our noses bump and so do our teeth and my glasses get all wonky but its perfect because its Eddie.  
When he pulls back I'm breathless and flushed, my lips red, our noses still touch. "Eds?"  
"Don't call me that," he says, eyes on my lips, face inching closer to mine, "you know I--" and then our mouths meet again and we both forget what he was going to say because it doesn't really matter. We melt into each other and the rest of the world fades away.

  
_ You'd think his heat would consume me. It doesn't, only warms my skin, sending goosebumbs up and down my arms, hot feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. I'd let it, though, I'd let it consume me if I had to. What a way to go, burned up by the brightest light of the sun, the smoke and hiss from my body leaving behind lingering burnt smell, my hysteric laughter echoing to the farthest corners of the stars._

* * *

_When I realize it's all going to end my world collapses inwards, crushing me until I'm sobbing and he's clutching me in his arms. I can feel it fading before its even gone, really, taking the warmth with it, leaving me cold and empty, my chest full of dust and ash. I think he'll forget me when I'm gone. He'll move on, get a life and a wife or some shit that'll make him miserable, because his mom wants him too. Or because that's what he really wants too. (And that's the part that scares me the most. That he's happy to be going, because it gets him off the hook.)_

  
Our kisses are desperate, lips chasing each other, hands grabbing and holding on for dear life because it's all gonna be gone so soon and that's not what I want to think about right now, so I don't.  
Our limbs clack together and we're sprawled all over each other, messy and disastrous, just on the edge of hysterical. Eddie's crying and his face is all wet, cold when our cheeks brush. He's been crying since I got here. I'm pretending it's not happening and kissing him like we're both about to die.  
We're in my room, on my bed, and I don't wanna talk. Eddie does, I think, but fuck that. He pulls his mouth away from mine, "Richie."  
"Shut the fuck up," I tug his lips back towards mine, relishing the way he gasps when our mouths smash back together. He kisses me for a moment longer, he always does, but then he opens his eyes and gently tugs my face back.  
_ "Richie."_  
He sounds sad, which makes sense. I'm sad, devastated actually, but its easier to pretend that all of that isn't real, that every outside the walls of this bedroom are some imaginary life we play with for fun sometimes, and that everything that really matters is caught with his lips on mine.  
I sigh and go to run a hand through my hair, to brush it out of my eyes, but Eddie beats me to it, hands soft against my forehead. He gives me a look I can't really describe. It says 'we can't ignore this forever, its happening,' (I'm struck by how easy it is to read him now. Since all of our _stuff_ happened), and I can see it in his eyes, big and brown. "I know," I say, because I do, "I know."  
He presses his face into my shoulder and I wrap my arms around him. He's crying again, I can feel his tears soak through my shirt. I don't mention it, just run my hand up and down his back and try to whisper encouraging words like my whole world isn't currently being held together by a thread.  
"I'm sorry, Richie."  
"I know."  
"I don't want you to leave."  
"I know."  
"I wish there was something we could do."  
"I know."  
"Are you gonna say anything other than I know?"  
I huff out a breath, trying (and failing) to steady my voice, "I don't know."  
He presses his lips to my neck softly, "I'm gonna miss you."  
And he sounds so raw, so open and vulnerable and so not Eddie. He lifts his face and meets my eyes, nose touching mine just a little, like it does when he wants me to kiss him but doesn't feel like asking, and something about it (the tears on his cheeks, the hopelessness on his face, the messiness of his hair, and how his shirt is all mussed up, a little too small. That it's all about to be gone) makes me laugh one single laugh, dry and a little broken. And then I start crying. I can feel the lump in my throat, and I'm sure he can see the tears glistening in my eyes. "Rich."  
He kisses me but my mouth isn't working right. "Eds, just promise you won't-- won't forget me when I'm gone, okay?"  
He looks at me like I'm breaking his heart but I shove down my guilt because I'm scared. He cups my face, fingers soft and warm against the cool tears, "Richie, is that what your worried about?"  
I just nod and say, "'m scared, Eds. I know _I'm_ not anything special but, _God_, you're the world to me. And I don't wanna lose you."  
Eddie's crying again and we probably look so stupid, and a million people would kick the shit out of us just for being alive. Two boys, tangled up in a bed, kissing and crying and being in _love_.  
And it is _love_, isn't it? The realization hits me at the worst possible time. Before it was just love, casual and sweet and new, but now its _love_, achingly real and about to be ripped from my arms.  
Eddie lets out a watery laugh, "I'm gonna miss you so much, Richie."  
"I love you." I say because I need to say it. At least once, to see how it feels in my mouth. (Really good. Perfect actually. Heart-breakingly perfect).  
He kisses me, soft and deep and amazing. And our tears blend together and I can feel it in my soul, the kiss the _love_, all of it.  
He pulls away and smiles a little, and I smile back, teeth feeling cracked but the smile feeling real.  
"I--"  
Then the phone rings, loud in the empty house. We both know who it is.  
"You have to go, Eds."  
He shakes his head, determined. "I can be late."  
"But you shouldn't be."  
He sighs and kisses my cheek. Then my jaw and my forehead and my nose and my mouth. He stands and I grab his hand and we walk down the stairs. When we reach the door he glances around and presses his lips to mine once more, lingering for a moment, like a ghost.  
"I love you too, Richie. Forever."  
Then I tuck his hair behind his ear and nod at him. "Bye Eddie Kaspbrak. See ya around." The words are casual but the tone is wrecked. He wipes a tear off his cheek with his sleeve and chuckles a little, face still bent with hurt, plain as day. 

"See ya Richie."  
He swings the door open and steps outside, turning around one last time, looking at me. And we look. Just for a second. And I feel like my life is flashing before my eyes because it is. He is my life. And when I blink he'll be gone. The turns away.  
As soon as the door closes I collapse, wrapping my arms around myself, my back against the door he just shut (sobbing in a way that feels all to familiar except a thousand times worse. Last time I cried like this he kissed me. Now he's gone.) I wonder if he's doing the same, crying like he'll never be happy again. I wonder if I'll ever actually 'see him around.' I wonder if he really meant that he'd love me forever (I think he did. I hope he did.) I wonder.

_ I find out what it feels like to have your heart torn out. But not crushed, just taken away, so far you cant remember if its even real, all of it to blurry to categorize. Its cold. And it hurts like hell because I can't seem to figure out why there's a hole in my chest. So I look down at the hole and the only thing I notice is the absence of light. I cry for weeks. Then I can't recall why I'm crying. So I stop. But the hole is still there, gaping and very apparent, cold to the touch and painful. And the worst part is I don't know why it hurts._

* * *

_ When I see him again, its like another puzzle, snapping back together so perfectly, as if the pieces never fell apart in the first place. Its slow at first, tentative and full of tension, but then its fast and hot and bright and I think we could be happy forever. Its like we're kids all over again, babies in the sandbox, (his Mom on the bench staring me down, my parents doing God-knows-what.) throwing sand at each other and babbling, innocent and simple. And then we shoot up like sprouts growing and growing (and changing as the world changes around us, walls crumbling and coming back up, people fading, until somehow, we end up here, and I wouldn't have it any other way. _

  
Sitting on a dusty, squeaky, and uncomfortable bed, totally not thinking about Eddie Kaspbrak (and his stupid brown eyes and the little bit of height he's gained over the years and the way his laugh sounds the same as it did when we were 17) is definitely not how I want to spend the rest of what's probably the last day of my life. But here I am doing just that.  
_It_ didn't want the memories to surface. Wanted them to stay buried so deep within us we'd never come back. But we did. And we're hear now. I'm here. And now I'm wide awake, thinking about how they did resurface, my brain bouncing from anxiety about tomorrow to anxiety about Eddie fucking Kaspbrak.  
The memories dance in front of my eyes like smoke, images swirling around me until my lungs fill and I cough myself to death.  
Eddie, smiling so bright I think I might go blind, scrunching up his face and laughing at something stupid I did. Little initials on the kissing bride known for two things, sucking face and carving names. Climbing though his window in the dead of night, tripping on the way in and getting patched up by his gentle fingers. Kisses on the tip of the nose after band-aids are smoothed down across the bridge of it. Hands brushing on soft sheets, smiles so wide our cheeks ached. Light streaming in though the window, ("five more minutes," I groan, but he presses his lips to my forehead and my eyes flutter open. "that's cheating," I grumble angrily, though I'm not angry at all). Lips meeting lips, desperate and consuming, hands in hair and around waists, leg tangled and falling asleep, though neither of us really care. Eddie's crinkled eyes as he grins. Eddie kissing every freckle on my face. Eddie tracing the lines on my palms with his fingers. _Eddie_.  
And a particular set of words. Ones that to this day I've never heard from anyone else, never said to anyone else. Words that echo in my mind, a little hazy but somehow simultaneously clear as day. (_"I love you." "I love you too, Richie. Forever."_)  
Because _holy shit,_ I told him I loved him. And he said he loved me. And we forgot. _It_ made us forget. And that thought fills me with such rage the anxiety almost disappears completely. Because that was the first I love you of my life. And the last. And I lost it. It was taken from me. But now its back and so is the banter and the smiling and the feelings.  
And I can't just sit here and do nothing about it, I think one more minute on this stupid creaky bed is gonna make me go insane. I stand up abruptly, grabbing my jacket and pulling it on, deciding that a change of scenery might do me some good. I push open the door of my room gently, then walk to the elevator, almost screaming when I hear a little, "Richie?"  
I turn towards the sound of the voice (though I really don't have to) "Eddie Spaghetti!" I whisper enthusiastically, trying to cover up the fact that he's the whole reason I'm not currently in bed.  
He rolls his eyes and his cheeks brighten a little and I can't help but feel entirely elated by the fact that I can remember him. That he's here and he's solid. "Are you ever gonna stop calling me that?"  
"What can I say, old habits die hard, and we did take a twenty-something year break, didn't we?"  
He smiles, "yeah, I guess we did."  
"So Eds--" my stomach swims when he rolls his eyes again and I remind myself that that shouldn't be happening (because he's married and he's happy and he probably doesn't remember any of it) and start actively trying to turn off the butterfly response. "what brings you to the hallway this lovely evening?"  
"Couldn't sleep. You?"  
I sigh, "Yeah, me neither."  
I laugh and he tilts his head at me in confusion. (I pinch myself to stop the seizing of my heart). "It's all just a little funny, don't ya think? We come back here, get all these memories back, and then tomorrow we what? Win and forget each other again? Lose and die?"  
His eyes dart towards the floor, "I don't actually."  
I look at him. "Yeah, you wouldn't."  
"Whats that supposed to mean?" he demands.  
I stick my hands up in surrender, "nothing, nothing. You were just always-- I don't know, never mind."  
He stands, a little awkwardly. "I'm gonna go," he gestures back to his room. I nod at him and smile, trying not to be disappointed (he doesn't remember. and it doesn't matter because he moved on anyway.)  
But then he turns around and looks at me, not saying anything, eyes baring into me like he's looking for something. I'm about to open my mouth when he speaks.  
"Do you remember?" He doesn't need to clarify what. (I can still read him, like we're still attached at the hip, getting beat up for being a little too much so.)  
I can hear my heart in my ears, "yeah."  
He considers it for a moment. "Goodnight Richie."  
"Night Kaspbrak."  
And I turn to go back to my room, fully intending to do so. And I walk about halfway there before I stop, think, _damn you, Eddie,_ and run my hands all over my face smudging my glasses and messing up my hair, not that it matters. Because it would all be so much easier if he didn't remember. If I could just pretend it didn't happen. Because now I feel exposed, like someone stripped me down and put me up on a stage. Because he's the only person who's ever really seen me, all of me, and then stuck around anyway, in spite of the annoying comments and the obnoxious jokes and the beat up _whatever_ that's inside of all of that.  
And I cant help but wonder if he still feels like he did back then (and then I wonder if I do. I don't really know how I feel about Eddie yet. It'd like meeting all over again except everything is somehow exactly the same and wildly different). I don't think he does, he is married, after all. I also don't think there's any fucking chance I could go to sleep at this point, so I head back towards the elevator.  
As I'm walking, I'm startled to see that Eddie is once again standing there. He sheepishly waves at me.  
"Fancy meeting you here Eds."  
"Oh shut it trashmouth." I smile at the old nickname and he does too and our gazes meet for a second. He smile fades a little but his eyes stick on mine.  
"Still can't sleep, huh?" I say after a moment, scratching the back of my neck.  
"Richie?" he says slowly in a way that I definitely don't like.  
"Yeah?"  
"What do you remember, exactly?" he bends his face in concentration as he asks, like the question takes effort.  
I bite my lip, "I remember a lot of stuff, Eds, you're gonna have to be a little bit more specific."  
"You know what I mean."  
I inhale, "I know."  
"So?" he prompts.  
"I remember you being _exactly_ this pushy, Eds, shut the fuck up an let me think a minute."  
He does, and I think. I think about the images that've been plaguing my brain since I set foot in this town. I think about the way he used to look at me and wonder if he looks at his wife in the same way. I want to ask him what he remembers. I want to know what he remembers. I think about the big picture, the whole reason we're here. And how that'll probably be the end of me so, fuck it, today I do what I want.  
"What do you remember?" I say it like I'm teasing. Or flirting. Or something in between.  
Eddie laughs a little, "no fair I asked you first."  
"We're not ten, Spaghetti."  
"Says the one who just called me spaghetti." he mutters, "fine. I remember you."  
He says it definitively. Like that answers anything. Like it solves the big puzzle that's assembled itself in my brain.  
"Yeah no shit."  
He blushes, "fine, fine. I remember _us_." The way he says us gives the word a certain meaning. He tucks his hair behind his ear nervously. I step towards him.  
"Oh yeah?" like its a challenge. A game. Something to be won.  
He takes a step towards me_,_ "yeah, I remember, you climbing through my window at midnight, all scratched up like a dumbass. And us reading comic books on your bed. And us being stupid kids.  
I step towards him_._ "Well I remember you fixing me up after I climbed through your window like a dumbass, and us holding hands while we read comic books. And us being 'stupid kids'  
He steps towards me. (And we're a little too close now, and it feels all too familiar. Like I'm 17 and I'm moving and he's telling me he loves me.) I can feel his breath on my cheeks.  
I think I might kiss him which feels childish.  
"I remember saying I love you." he says quietly.  
"I remember loving you."  
He closes the gap before I even get the chance, reaching up and catching my lips with his, holding my head with one hand, tugging me back towards the door of his room, practically refusing to let our lips break apart (not that I mind). I scramble to twist the nob of the door and when I do he falls into the room, taking me with him, laughing a little hysterical laugh because this can't be happening. I've got to be dreaming or some shit.  
I shouldn't be doing this, either. My head is screaming at me and my moral compass is going batshit. _He's married asshole. And we're gonna die tomorrow. He doesn't know what he's doing._  
He slams me against a wall, "aren't you married?" I breathe, like I don't already know.  
"Don't wanna be" he smashes his lips against mine again and I can't really protest, can I? (Not when his hands are in my hair and his lips are slotted with mine) He's always been a desperate kisser, I think some things never change  
"You can't do this to her." I try when I pull away for air (and fail miserable at the breathing part, practically dissolving as he traces my bottom lip with his thumb)  
He huffs in frustration. "No, Richie. She's manipulative." he sounds sort of dejectedly angry, "And toxic. She tells me I'm weak and--"  
This time I kiss him, cutting him off with my lips. "You're not weak, Eds" I kiss him again, "you're stronger than you know, always have been."  
He pulls away, breathe warm against my skin "I didn't wanna forget you," he presses his lips to my jaw. "I didn't mean to."  
I kiss his forehead (because he's still short and its so adorable I might melt) "I know Eds."  
"I think if I didn't leave we would've stayed together. It wouldn't have gone to shit the way it all did."  
"Look, it doesn't matter now, Eds. We're here. I'm here."  
His eyes dart from mine down to my lips and his mouth curves into a smile. He stands on his toes, "Yeah," he mutters, "you are."  
Then we're kissing again and I feel like my skin is on fire. All I can feel is Eddie, his hands in my hair, his waist under my fingers, his mouth on mine, its all just _Eddie_.  
And what feels like hours later, we lay awake, in comfortable silence, chests warm, faces red. Our fingers are laced together and I bring his knuckles to my lips, softly kissing them and smiling as he sighs. Tomorrow couldn't feel father away.

_ We're happy, it's sweet, it's simple, and it's over too fast, but god, laying next to him feels like I'm living a whole other lifetime, like nothing could ever go wrong. Like if he's the sun, I'm the moon and maybe for once it will all just balance out and everything can stay right._

* * *

_When I realize he's gone it hits me like ice cold water, like waves of freezing wind, chilling me down to the bone until my skin is blue and purple. It's life shattering, world altering. The most painful thing I've ever felt, I'll ever feel. Like someone killed me. Shot me in the chest, right through the heart, in one side out the other (it should be a clean kill but its not, there's blood everywhere and it's all I can see. I'm drowning in it, smearing it over the walls like in Bev's bathroom. It gets in my eyes stinging and burning. And I splash around until it fills my lungs and I sink to the bottom). It makes me wish I was numb, it breaks me. I'm just shattered glass, shards that dig into people feet and slice open skin. It makes me wish I was dead too._

  
I think it all goes in slow motion. He's thrown down and I call his name and stumble towards him, tripping over my feet. He's bleeding too much, a gaping lack of arm where his arm should logically be. Just a bloody stump and the echoes of his cry of pain. I might throw up.  
All I feel is panic. It makes my heart seize and it blurs my vision, making spots dance before my eyes as I try to make my lungs work right. (I want to scoop up his aspirator and bring it to my own lips, see if the bullshit his mom sold him ever really meant anything). I fall to my knees beside him, pulling his head into my lap, running my hand through his hair and screaming for help (and I sound so broken, my voice like the fragments of the bottles that littered my house when I was young, that Eddie would always scrunch up his nose at, his face hardening but his voice softening as I told him why they were shattered and what that had to do with the bruises on my arms).  
And I'm sobbing, frantic and uncontrollable, "his arm! Guys get help, he needs help! _Guys!_" Tears stream down my cheeks, ice cold, and my mouth twists in some sort of panicked agony. "Eds," I whisper, trying to make my voice steady (it cracks on every word. Like I'm fifteen again.) "you're gonna be fine, I'm gonna get you out of here I pro--"  
I feel his hand on my face, gentle, familiar, an anchor in the middle of the hell-storm around us. Warm in the way it always is. I lean into the touch, "don't, Richie. D-don't promise."  
His voice is quiet, weak. But his expression is ridiculously calm and I wanna scream. I trace my thumb over his cheek and my tears fall onto his face. "Eddie."  
"You're gonna be okay, Rich." He smiles a little and I can feel my heart shatter, hear the thump of it get louder and quicker as it pierces and aches in my chest, sharp and jagged.  
_ "Eddie."_  
I sound desperate, and scared. Because this is scarier than some bullshit clown. Because this is what I'm really afraid of (not clowns, not werewolves, _this_). He laughs and I think he's a little delirious. And I think I am too. Because I know whats coming. And holy fuck I've never dreaded something more in my life. I can feel the weight of it, heavy on my shoulders, weighing down my body, killing me along with him. I cling to him, frightened that if I loosen my grip even a little, he'll slip away. (It's too soon, too fucking soon. _I just got him back._)  
"I love you." He says and I try to plaster a smile onto by face but it breaks so easily (he doesn't need me to be strong for him anyway. He's strong enough. I was always the weak one).  
"I love you too." I say and my voice wavers and cracks and breaks, I feel like my heart is being ripped apart in my chest. And then I say it again because I want him to know. I _need_ him to know. "_God,_ Eds, _I love you_. _Forever._"  
And then I kiss him, because what else can I do? Because I love him and I need to because I don't know what's gonna happen after this. When our lips break apart he smiles and I look at him. Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy I've known forever. The boy I've loved forever. The _man_ now, I guess. Who I never really forgot. I see all his bright smiles and his fiery red blush (_"cute, cute, cute."_) I see the freckles on his cheeks. I've always known the pattern, little constellations. I see him like he's still thirteen, in the Neibolt house, arm broken, crying into my hands, wearing his stupid fucking fanny pack and loosing his innocence (except in the picture in my mind he's already wearing the cast, the V in the word lover looking bloodier). I see him now, so very far from thirteen, battered and bloody (_and dying_) in my arms, his eyes glassy but so so bright. Long eye lashes, stupidly gullible and naive, stronger than steel Eddie Kaspbrak. I love him so much it hurts.  
"Don't c-call me that." he says so softly I can barely hear. But I do hear and I choke out a laugh (breathy and hopeless). "you know I, I--" and then his eyes roll back in his head and his body goes limp and I hear myself whisper "no no no nononono_nonono_"  
"Eds." I rest my forehead on his. Really crying now, bawling, pleading, "look at me, Eds, _look at me._" My throat is hollow and he feels so cold. Behind me Ben breaks down, coughing out silent, tear-less whimpers, and pulling Beverly close. I think that Bill throws up. And Mike is quiet. All that can be heard is my sobbing. The "please, God no. Eds, _please_" that should be inaudible but echoes through the sewers.  
"He can't be--," I start, "You _can't_ be--" and then my voice fails, words dying in my throat, and I press my lips too his forehead, cursing God and Pennywise and Derry and everyone else on the planet.  
It starts to rain, pitter-patter of droplets echoing through the tunnels. I think that its maybe poetic, that Ben thinks its poetic. But I think its ironic bullshit. _Fuck the sky_ for moving on like time isn't frozen here in this nasty sewer. _Fuck the clouds_ for raining like its any other day and Eddie Kaspbrak is alive. _Fuck it all_.

_When I leave it behind it burns like the coldest ice you'll ever feel. It's not warm, its not good, its not even hell (because hell is fire and heat). It's just empty. So noticeably empty. Like I've lost a limb, I can almost feel the ghost of it (almost hear his laugh, feel his lips against mine), but it's not real. When I cried, the tears froze and got stuck on my cheeks, and now I can't get them off. I can never really get them off. And its dark, and I'm left grappling in the blackness for some sort of light. But I won't find it. (He was the sun, the sun's supposed to always rise. He didn't.) I visit the kissing bridge before I go, tracing my fingers over the letter, carving in the last one (a little scrawled 'E') and crying and crying until Bev puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me away, muttering gentle words that don't fucking mean anything. The night he died it rained, booming thunder making Bill curl in on himself a little. I looked for the sun. The clouds blocked it out. It was dark--too dark, and cold, but that was to be expected._  
_ And when I'm gone, months later when Derry is blurry and I can't quite remember the names of the people who mattered,__ I find that sunny days make me sick. And I can't explain why, but when I look up at the sky I feel a hole open in my chest, the phantom of a feeling of warmth, long gone, from somewhere I can't understand. I look out the window. I see the sun (hot and familiar but devastatingly far away). I feel a little pang, the echo of a voice I desperately wish I could place. "beep beep, Richie!" Young and annoyed. I wake up from nightmares that slip away from my brain as it checks back into reality, a nervous sounding "swear its not a joke, dumbass," lacking context but containing every bit of emotion. The sun shines through into my room, "You know I--I--," my heart sinks, I close the curtains. Like a shadow, following me._

_ "I love you too, Richie. Forever."_

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t decide if I like this or not, there’s some parts where I’m like, oh that sounded good and fit or whatever, and then I read other parts and I literally gag. Anyway, thank you for reading! Comment!! Comments always make my day! I really hope you enjoyed :)


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